


A Bloody Nuisance

by AvoidingAverage



Series: Cops and Robbers [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Battle Pillows, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Caring Jaskier | Dandelion, Cop Geralt, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, mild violence, no beta we die like witchers, phone, thief jaskier, why is that already a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvoidingAverage/pseuds/AvoidingAverage
Summary: All Geralt wanted was a coffee after a long night of chasing down leads for the museum robbery.  Instead, he finds himself running for his life in the middle of downtown.Good thing he's got a handsome thief following him.______________________Or, the Cop Geralt and Thief Jaskier no one asked for, but I definitely keep writing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Cops and Robbers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650430
Comments: 53
Kudos: 746





	A Bloody Nuisance

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you read part 1 and 2 before starting this one!
> 
> I am fully in love with this universe. Thief Jaskier has stolen the show and run with it. I hope you guys like this chapter as much as I do. :)
> 
> Bonus: See if you can spot Jaskier before he makes himself known.

Gunshots were louder than any mortal creation had any right to be.

They also hurt like a bitch--something Geralt wasn’t proud of being able to attest to. Right now, he could feel the bullet wound along his bicep oozing blood sluggishly into his sleeve. It matched nicely with the adrenaline making his heart pound and his senses go sharp. He glanced down at it with a practiced eye and decided it would keep until he managed to find his way out of this mess.

All he’d wanted was a fucking cup of coffee, he thought viciously as he turned a corner and sprinted down the block. A cup of coffee and some peace and quiet so he could nurse the headache born from two many nights staring at his computer screen chasing down clues about the fucking thief that wouldn’t leave him alone.

The flip phone in his pocket chirped as though in answer to his thoughts and he growled. It had been two weeks since the first call from Jaskier. Two weeks where Geralt had learned a series of hard truths.

The first was that the phone calls were untraceable. 

And annoying.

* * *

[Unknown Number 08:45] good morning ger-bear! I hope you’re wearing your sexy little leather jacket today!!!

[Geralt 08:46] fuck off

* * *

He wasn't sure how, but Jaskier had somehow managed to reroute the number through so many secondary services that even Geralt’s best tech resources and experts were unable to give him any clues to where the thief was now. All hopes of tracking him through the obnoxious--and constant--calls and texts had disappeared after even his military contact couldn’t give him more than the city the phone was bought. Now all he could do was keep the phone close and hope Jaskier made a mistake that he could use against him.

It wasn’t going well.

* * *

[Unknown Number 22:05] this humidity is really fucking up my hair. What kind of conditioner do you use?

[Geralt 23:17] i hate you

[Unknown Number 23:18] don’t be ridiculous. We’re best friends!

* * *

[Missed Call 02:34:] Unknown Caller

[Missed Call 02:45:] Unknown Caller

[Missed Call 03:20:] Unknown Caller

[Missed Call 06:34:] Yennefer

[Missed Call 07:45:] Unknown Caller

* * *

The second was that Jaskier appeared to be one of the rare people who was not at all bothered by how little Geralt spoke. After he worked through the furious rants brought on by the first few calls--and figured out how to change that horrific ringtone--Geralt had returned to his usual habit of near silent hums and grunts when he didn’t feel like speaking. Which was often. Jaskier never seemed too perturbed by this and kept up a steady stream of chatter that had somehow become comforting after a long day at work.

All attempts to swear and threaten at the man had been met with open amusement or even delight when Geralt managed a particularly creative attack. All day long that damned phone would buzz each time Jaskier sent him a picture of his breakfast, or asked him about his day, or compared his eyes to molten gold or some such nonsense. Worst of all, no matter how long Geralt analyzed each picture for some kind of clue as to the thief’s whereabouts, he always came up empty. 

Jaskier just seemed genuinely interested in the few details Geralt shared on the rare occasions when he felt like participating in the rambling dialogue that experience taught him would continue with or without him. He asked about Roach with enough fondness that Geralt had to wonder if the thief had returned to his apartment since the phone incident just to visit her. Occasionally he would mention Yennefer, but Geralt never gave away any details about his partner--he’d never risk her getting caught up in this.

After a week of cheerful texts asking about his day and nights spent with a warm voice rumbling in his ear until he fell asleep, Geralt was surprised to realize that he noticed when Jaskier hadn’t talked to him in a while. He even...looked forward to the latest ridiculous commentary about whatever show or news story Jaskier had watched recently. Hell, Geralt found himself watching Brooklyn 99 purely so he could understand half the jokes Jaskier made about the show.

(It was surprisingly funny.)

(He did draw the line at Supernatural. Something about those Winchester boys sounded like too much drama.)

Talking to the thief was becoming a habit that he didn’t need Yennefer’s curious stares to remind him just how stupid it would be to continue. He was a cop. Jaskier was a criminal. As cliche as their relationship was, there was only one way it would end. Heartbreak.

And Geralt could lie to himself all day long about why he now carried the flip phone with him wherever he went; he could lie to Yennefer about being too busy to join her at their usual bar after their shift; he could even lie to Jaskier himself about how much he disliked the thief, but Geralt knew he’d already allowed this to go too far.

Which was why the attack at his favorite coffee shop was almost a welcomed distraction.

It started simply enough. He was in line for some much needed caffeine after staying up into the early hours chasing a lead. Geralt decided to reward himself for finding the first major piece of evidence he needed to begin hunting down the group that had robbed the museum. Museums and private collections throughout the state had reported similar crimes for the past six months--all done with internal knowledge and planning and with no major suspects from the police. It looked like whoever was planning these hits knew just how to use jurisdictional prejudice to their benefit and the cases had languished under lazy or overburdened officers.

He was waiting at the edge of the crowd for the barista to call his name when a man stepped close enough that Geralt could smell the sharp tang of his sweat and something was pressed against his lower back. 

It was amazing how quick he could go from relaxed and sleepy to high alert.

“Don’t make a scene,” the man behind him murmured, low enough not to be overheard by the hipster couple lingering nearby, “we’re just gonna go for a walk, yeah?”

Geralt nodded his head slowly, tilting his head enough to get a look at his attacker. He got a flash of Irish pale skin and dark brown hair before they were moving again.

“You’ve been messing with the wrong group of people, Detective,” the stranger sneered against his neck, “Going to get yourself hurt.”

Geralt made a noncommittal sound. His coffee was probably already stolen by those damned hipsters and now he had to look forward to a guy who smelled like dick cheese threatening him with lines stolen from an 80s buddy cop movie.

Around them the crowd parted with the ill-tempered laziness of people on their morning commute. Geralt forced himself to remain calm and focused as they made their way down the street away from his apartment and the corner street where he intended to meet Yennefer for a morning run. He had no doubt that his partner would know something was up if he didn’t show, but that may take an hour or more before Yen got over her annoyance and became worried.

Until then, he would just have to wait for an opportunity to break away from the firm hold on the back of his jacket.

He got his chance a few minutes later when the gunman started to force him across a street only to jerk back when a sedan ran the light and nearly took both of them out. Geralt didn’t hesitate, just spun enough to knock the man’s hand off his shirt and darted into traffic.

Horns and brakes screamed to life around him, but Geralt ignored them in favor of mentally plotting a path that would keep him out of sight from the gun he knew would be aiming at him. He heard a boom like the sound of a backfiring car and stumbled when a bullet ripped a burning line across his bicep. Wincing, he shoved his free hand against the injury to keep pressure and kept running.

Torn between wanting to stay near crowds because he knew most attackers wouldn’t risk being sighted by a crowd and the urge to keep a gunman away from any civilians, Geralt took a left down a short alley and came out near the edge of the farmer’s market. He risked glancing back to see if he was being followed and had to roll to avoid the gun aimed at his head from the alley. 

Cursing, he got to his feet and found himself eye to eye with an ancient looking Korean woman. She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously and he looked behind him in time to see the man running out of the alleyway after Geralt. “I’ll pay for this,” Geralt said as he grabbed a large cabbage off the stand and hurled it as hard as he could at the gun man.

The gunman went down in a spray of greenery and Geralt bared his teeth in a feral smile. If only the woman sold coconuts. He started forward and froze when another group of men rushed toward the fallen gunman who pointed in Geralt’s direction.

“ _ Fuck _ .”

Geralt didn’t wait for the gunman’s friends to lock eyes on him before he was spinning on his heels and taking off down the narrow path through the stalls. A few people were forced to leap out of the way and he barely missing trampling a toddler wandering beside its mother. His attempts at blending in with the crowd were hampered by the fact that he was taller than most of the people stumbling around in search of organic produce and had bright silver hair tied back in a messy bun.

He could hear them shouting out orders to one another as he cut through the thickest part of the group to try to double back to the main street. If he was lucky, he could find a beat cop or avoid his followers long enough for one of the nosy bystanders to call the cops. Geralt barely dodged a cute brunette man strumming a guitar on the steps of a nearby building in his rush to get out of the line of sight of the gunman. The man gaped at him in shock, but Geralt didn’t stop his full blown sprint towards the relative safety of the next alleyway.

Geralt’s body hummed with excitement born from years of training with his unit and the release of the frustration left behind from hours of deskwork. If he wasn’t in danger of getting shot, he might even enjoy this excuse to avoid running with the intensely competitive Yennefer. She’d probably be jealous that he got a death threat before her today.

All thoughts of teasing his partner disappeared when the end of the alley way was abruptly blocked by a line of three men. They started toward him with deadly intent--his dark-haired guman among them--when Geralt decided that intelligence was the better part of valor and started to turn back the way he’d come. 

He didn’t even see the fourth man.

* * *

No matter how long you’ve trained or what action movies might claim, no one could ride out the effects of a taser without seizing uncontrollably.

He felt the metal prongs digging into the back of his neck distantly as his body arced in a painful curve. Muscles jerked and spasmed hard enough that he felt the rough concrete of the alley floor beneath his cheek just a few seconds later. His jaw clamped shut, teeth grinding together as the electricity continued to boil him from the inside out. Beneath him, he felt the flip phone in his back pocket crunch into painful shards beneath his weight. All thought disappeared beneath the primitive need to escape the source of the pain while also being unable to move in any meaningful way.

Even with his mind juddering and flinching under the waves of electricity, Geralt knew the charge had gone on for too long. His training officer’s voice darted through his mind between one conscious thought and the next:

_ Pull the trigger too long and you’ll ruin someone’s life forever. _

At the time, he’d only been concerned with the practical application of one of the tools he would use in the field--now he was facing the reality of dying at the hands of some unknown thugs.

The world around him greyed at the edges and his lungs burned in his chest even as he tried to gulp in oxygen. He could hear cruel laughter over the sound of his thundering heartbeat and smelled burning flesh as the man holding the taser kept it pressed against his skin even when he fell to the ground. His eyes stared up at the grey sky instead of the ring of faces around him, waiting for the moment when his mind finally--

A dark shadow passed over his head. 

Geralt only noticed the movement distantly because, between one moment and the next, the stun gun pressed against his back was ripped away and he could finally heave in a breath of air. The sounds of struggle were muffled by his gasping, rattling coughs. He curled onto his side, uncaring of the mud and trash around him. His body continued to tremble and shake without his control and he let his forehead press against the cool ground while he rode out the waves of agony.

Time went funny and inconsistent. One moment he was trembling and aching like a bruise, and the next he was being lifted onto someone lap with gentle hands. The scent of cedar and wood oil curled around him in a familiar way like some far off memory. He wanted to sink into it even as his mind shrieked in faint alarm. 

Geralt jerked, not yet ready to fight off another round of attackers, but unwilling to go down easily. Gentle hands ran over his shoulders and a rumbling, male voice hushed him gently. “Oh, love, it’s okay now, I swear. I’ve got you.”

It was a marker of how badly the attack had scrambled his brain that it took him several minutes of breathing in the soft smell of cologne and laundry detergent on the stranger’s shirt before he finally realized where he’d heard that voice before.

Then his eyes were flying open to stare into eyes that were bluer than any sky he’d ever seen.

Jaskier.

He must have said the word aloud because the man above him smiled and Geralt felt his lungs go sideways. Dark hair curled around features that matched the soft affection in his eyes as he watched Geralt watch him. He was wearing a soft grey henley paired with a plaid button down that made him look like one of the countless college students that wandered the city streets. He was beautiful, Geralt thought faintly and blamed it on the aftereffects of oxygen deprivation.

A finger gently tucked a strand of Geralt’s hair behind his ear and the voice that had eased him into sleep more than once purred above him, “Hello, Geralt.”

Geralt licked his lips, words feeling distant and fumbling in his mouth. “Wh’t…”

“I saw you run by,” Jaskier answered like he knew exactly what Geralt was asking and Geralt marveled at the way his eyes went dark with rage, “and I heard them attack you in the alley. I couldn’t let them just hurt you like that.”

“ ‘s my job.”

Jaskier frowned down at him, even as his hands stroked a gentle line down Geralt’s aching back. “Your job isn’t to become someone else’s punching bag. I refuse to let that happen.”

Geralt hummed and decided that it was probably okay for him to close his eyes for a bit. He was so tired.

Above him, Jaskier continued to rock Geralt like he was something precious and soft--not a man hardened by war and all his sins. It made something deep in his chest uncurl and his fingers ached to grab onto the soft cotton of Jaskier’s shirt and let himself be selfish for once. 

“This can’t change things between us,” he whispered quietly.

Jaskier’s humming stopped as he sighed and ran his fingers through the tangled strands of Geralt’s silver hair. Geralt imagined the look of frustration on his face, but couldn’t make himself open his eyes to see it first hand.

“Sleep, Geralt,” he said after a long moment of silence, “Let me worry about that for now.”

* * *

When Geralt opened his eyes, he was in the hospital.

He could smell the sharp scent of disinfectant and cleaning supplies that always marked the end of a fucked up mission. Beside him, he could hear the steady breathing of Yennefer and the quick flick of a magazine page being turned. He knew from experience he could open his eyes and see her reading through whatever terrible magazines had been left behind in the waiting room for moments like these. 

For now, he let himself drift and cling to the memory of being held like he was something fragile and cherished.

“I know you’re awake.”

Geralt hummed at Yennefer’s dry statement. “Were you worried about me?”

The bed rocked slightly when she kicked it with one foot. “More like pissed that you continue to get in trouble every time I leave you alone. Am I going to have to start sending you home with an escort?”

He snorted at her antics. “You’re just worried you’ll get wrinkles.”

Her shriek of fury was worth the pillow to the face.

* * *

Roach came to the door a little more eagerly than usual when he limped up the stairs to his apartment. He spent a few minutes crooning to her and petting her dark fur before padding into his living room. The space felt oddly quiet despite the fact that he had no reason to expect anyone else would be in the room. His growing stack of files on the museum case seemed to mock him from their position on his coffee table.

Geralt eyed them for a moment before he decided that was a problem for Future Geralt.

He tossed off his ruined shirt to join the rest of its brethren on the pile next to his laundry machine. Now that he was required to stay off duty for the next two days, he would have more than enough time to wash clothes. The thought of filing out the piles of paperwork waiting for him was enough to chase away any happiness at the unexpected break in his usual caseload.

“Chinese sound good?” he asked Roach. 

The shepherd, sensing the opportunity to mooch food from his plate, gave a soft woof of agreement.

Geralt walked over to his room to put his phone on the charger so he could make the call to the little hole in the wall Chinese restaurant he liked. He was halfway to his dresser before he noticed what was on his bed.

A simple flip phone with a new, heavy duty case sat next to a carefully folded note.

On top of a fucking red velvet pillow.

Geralt closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and counted to ten to try to push through the confusing mixture of relief and fury that the sight created. After a minute, he walked over to his bed and grabbed the note to read over the scrawling lines.

_ Try to take better care of this, won’t you? _

_ Love, _

_ Jaskier _

Geralt smiled.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm toying with making one of these chapters explicit. Thoughts?


End file.
